Choose — A Celebration of Twenty-five Years of Religion Profession

There are, every so often in the Gospels, passages which must really be approached not as narratives, not as a description of a thing or a person or an event, but approached rather as though they were poems, an attempt to stir up in us a sense of how the thing or the person or the event feels. This Gospel reading this evening, I think, is a good example of just such. This reading is a brief excerpt taken from a much longer passage, it covers the whole of the thirteenth chapter in Matthew's Gospel. It is a chapter that really stands alone. It could be lifted out of the rest of the Gospel, without losing any of its value, its impact. So much so that it even carries it's own name. Traditionally this chapter is called the parables of the Kingdom, because in it Christ is pictured as describing to the people something of what the Kingdom of God is like, or will be... doing so by holding up a series of very commonplace images drawn from the immediate experience of His listeners. Images of farming, fishing, commerce. And in the mouth of Christ, certainly those images do begin at least to describe something of what the Kingdom is like, or will be. We say that in faith, of course, because clearly enough, other than Christ's own word, we have nothing at all against which to measure His imagery. There is no certainty in us that can be touched by such imagery, so as to draw from us an easy and immediate, "Yes, that's right, that's what the Kingdom is like."

But there is another dimension to these parables, especially perhaps the last few, such as these two this evening, images of a treasure found in a field, and of a single pearl worth more than all the others put together. And to this, it is very easy indeed for us to respond from personal experience with an immediate "Yes, that is just what it feels like." Because these last few images, to my mind, describe not nearly so much the Kingdom as they do those who pursue it, wait for it, hope for it. Not nearly so much what God has done as what we must do. Not what it will feel like someday to live in the Kingdom, but rather what it must feel like right now, to choose to be in the Kingdom.

If there is a single word that is common to each of these last few images in the parables of the Kingdom, it is surely that word. Choose. The farmer who chooses the field with the buried treasure, and chooses it over everything else. The merchant who chooses the one pearl, and chooses it over everything else. And in each case, the choice made is pictured as being no vague intellectual exercise in the prioritizing of values, not at all a matter of saying this is somehow, probably better than this. Rather in each case the choice is very much a two-edged sword, a choice of something, but at the same time, necessarily, a choice against something else. Both the farmer and the merchant literally give up, empty themselves of everything else in favor of what they have chosen.

And in these few brief, almost off-hand images, there is a powerful and a holy truth being revealed, in a sense almost a frightening truth. And it is simply this. The New Kingdom, the Kingdom of God is built now, and will be peopled by those with the ability and the willingness to make choices... to act on what they have chosen, to invest that choice with everything they have, everything they are.

It seems so simple, really. Too simple. Surely the coming of the Kingdom must be built of headier stuff than that. To make a choice, to pick one thing over another, surely that is something everyone does, everyday. The alternative would seem to be a frozen immobility, to simply do nothing. So it would seem. But it is not true. Not true at least on the level of choice with which these parables deal.

I said that in order to read these parables well, we have to be able to go beyond the concrete imagery, read them as though they were poems, a sequence not of events, but of experiences, not what we do, but how it feels. In fact, the concrete images do present us with a picture of the kind of choice we all make, every day. A choice between two obvious goods, between measureable values. The farmer who finds a treasure, can see that it is a treasure, can see the worth of it, and he can compare that worth with what he knows the value of the rest of his property to be, and easily conclude, this is worth more. The merchant, can bring all of his experience and expertise to bear on his decision. He knows first hand the value of pearls, and it is clear to him, this one is more valuable, and it is to my advantage to sell the others, and choose it. And in each of these instances, the choice made changes only what the chooser has, not what the chooser is. In each instance, the choice is made on the basis of what do I want, right now, and which of these good things will do the most to satisfy that want. And in each instance, should something else more valuable, a pearl of even greater price be unearthed a little later, the choice can be re-made, easily, naturally. Because the process has changed nothing, really. The chooser has become nothing new, the standard against which choices are measured is still the same. What do I want, and what will best satisfy that want.

And those indeed are the kinds of choices we all make every day. Where will I live? What will I wear, what kind of work will I do, with whom will I associate, what will I have for lunch? Necessary choices, certainly. The alternative would indeed be immobility, to sit in a corner, I suppose, and do, wear and eat, nothing. And in such choices, the chooser has the support and approval of literally everyone else. Oh, certainly, there may be those who disagree with what is chosen, but there is no one who would disagree with the rightness of making the choice, the terms on which it is made.

Ordinary fare, such choices. They make the day work. But that is all they do. They do not change the quality of the day, they do not change the one who makes them. In the face of obvious good, there is no creativity, no need for such. Nor is there any self-determination, self-giving... again, no need for such. And where there is no creativity, there is no power. Where there is no self-giving, there is no love. No building of the Kingdom.

I think we have to re-write that parable a bit, add to the imagery, in order to get a clearer picture of the kind of choice that builds the Kingdom. The merchant, in his search for pearls is accompanied by two friends, both of whom he trusts, admires. And in his search he uncovers not a huge pearl, but a sealed box, big enough, strong enough to contain a huge pearl, certainly, but also big enough to contain a clump of dirt. A box so strongly sealed, it will take years to open completely. The merchant knows, firsthand the value of the rest of his pearls, but he doesn't know the value of this box. So he asks his friends. And the one tells him, "What this box contains is worth far more than anything you have now, or will ever get. Choose it. Choose it because it is right to do so. Your life will be better with this box than without it."

But the other tells him, "Don't be a fool. You have too much to lose. You have many pearls already, and there will be more. Your wants, your needs can be satisfied. And you can even do a great deal of good with what you have." The merchant turns back to the first, who simply points to the box and repeats what he had said. "Choose it. Do so because it is better to do so." And so he does. He chooses the box. He invests everything he has in that choice, and does so knowing that the value of what he has chosen will not be clear to him for many years to come.

And this is not the sort of choice that everyone makes every day. It is something radically other than that. In this choice, the merchant is changed. What he values, what he believes to be true about himself, his future, his world. How the truth is approached is changed. The qualities in himself that he will bring to bear on his world, from then on, have changed. His choice has been creative. He has acted without the support of all of those around him. He has faced the possibility of being desperately wrong, of being a fool, and acted in spite of it. His choice has been courageous. He has set Himself to a course that cannot be changed. From then on, any other pearl that may surface will have to be measured against that box. His choice of it becomes the standard against which everything else is measured. His choice is faithful, and loving. It is of such that the Kingdom is built.

And it is such that we are here to recognize and celebrate this afternoon. The ability, the willingness to make a creative, loving choice. The ability, the willingness to invest literally everything that one is in that choice, and to measure the world against nothing less. Today we celebrate the 25th anniversary of the religious profession of Sister Karen DuBord, Sister Francine Janousek, and Sister Lorraine Schmaltz. That is a long time. Over these past 25 years, Sisters Lorraine and Karen and Francine have carried what they have found, what they have chosen, through a great many fields, a great many market-places. In teaching, dietetics, administration, pastoral ministry, the Prayer Center, and in studies....... In the course of it, they have been offered a great many treasures, obvious ones, not sealed up at all. They have had to re-make their original choice a great many times. And certainly, over these 25 years, that sealed box has begun to open, the realization of its promise begun. But only begun. The full value of what they have chosen can't possibly be clear to them yet. I'd be a bit skeptical if it was. These 25 years have been turbulent ones in the history of the Church. Years of question, of doubt, challenge. I'm sure there must have been times when these three have peered into that box, and had to wrestle with the suspicion that perhaps there wasn't much of value in there after all. In fact, it really is not a choice made 25 years ago that we celebrate today. But one made yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that. Today is not nearly so much a day for reflecting on why these three came here a quarter century ago. Rather it is a day for reflecting on why they come here this afternoon. As that choice is re-made again and again, the expression of it changes certainly, but the heart of it doesn't. It is still creative, it is still self-giving, and it still builds the Kingdom.

And for 25 years, for Sisters Francine, Lorraine and Karen, that creative self-giving has taken a very specific shape, the shape of the vowed life of a religious. Like the merchant in the marketplace in the company of his friends, they first made their choice because they were told it was good to do so, and they trusted those with whom they spoke. For 25 years they have been told so again and again, by their sisters, their families, their friends. But like the merchant too, that is not all they have been told. If the images of these parables have been important to them, there have been other images, hundreds of them, thousands, offered by the world, by other people, good people. Images of success, of happiness, of satisfaction. Images of what life should be like, what it should feel like. Compelling images, attractive ones, a flood of them. Images that often enough have had little to do with poverty, chastity and obedience. But in the face of that, for 25 years these three have continued to choose to live out the gentle prophecy of the vows, to lovingly act out in full view of the world a greater truth, a deeper value, not in judgment of the world, but certainly in challenge of it.

And ultimately it is that we celebrate today. The constancy of self-giving. A choice questioned, but not denied, challenged, but not broken. A choice made once, and re-made many times. And because it has been, the creative power of God's own Kingdom has been brought to bear on His people. The Kingdom is a little closer now than it was 25 years ago, its value a little clearer. That is a powerful thing, a good thing to be able to say of anyone's choice.

And we have the Father's word that it is so. It was He Who stood beside these sisters in the marketplace and said, "Choose this. It is the better way." In His call to them to a constancy of choice, He calls them, He calls us all, to do what He has done. He calls us to a constancy that is, after all, only a dim reflection of His own. In the words of this first reading this afternoon, the promise is strong and clear. If the fields and marketplaces through which we search sometimes seem to overwhelm us, if we, sometimes, stumble in our certainty as to the value of what we have chosen, He does not. "I know well the plans I have in mind for you," He says, "plans for your welfare, plans to give you a future full of hope. When you seek Me, you will find Me with you, and I will change you." For 25 years the Father has changed Sister Karen, and Sister Lorraine, and Sister Francine. He has remade them more and more closely in His image. And through them, He has done so for us all.

Homily preached in celebration of the twenty-fifth anniversary of the religious profession of Sister Karen DuBord, Sister Francine Janousek, and Sister Lorraine Schmaltz, April 5, 1986. Sisters of the Presentation of the Blessed Virgin Mary, Fargo